


Aphelion

by Polaristellar



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Betrayal, Chaos, Death, F/M, Love, Redemption, Silvertongue, Tricksters, Underworld, aphelion - Freeform, kronocides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaristellar/pseuds/Polaristellar
Summary: This was the descent of Hades, the god of treachery, of lies, of betrayal.This was the descent of Hades – silvertongue, Kronocides – the god of death. Ages rise and fall in the new universe. The first spanned the beginning of creation, where Uranus and Gaia were cast into existence. The second began with the betrayal of a god-son: Kronos overthrew his god-father, and took his throne in the high heavens. The third was born in much the same way, with Zeus overthrowing Kronos in the prophetic savagery just as Kronos had overthrown Uranus before him. And now, the universe approaches a fourth age.





	1. The Third Coming

**The Third Coming ******

He is a lesser god, born at the genesis of a new age. 

Fashioned from the threads of the primordial void, he is the first to be wrung out of existence by the god-mother of titans. He is the harbinger of change, the tipper of balance. It is his birth that unravelled the first threads of the god-father’s sanity, and sent him on the descent to madness. 

Though the first hours of his life he spent in dewy, dim light, he was just as soon consumed into the bowels of the god-father lest he should hold high heaven in the place of the deathless titan. And there he was trapped, outside of life, yet inside of time, waiting – waiting – all whilst resentment bred deep and dark inside of him.

In the end, four others would join him before at last the dark sky was split, and they were once again expelled into the universal macrocosm. It was by the work of their brother, Zeus, the youngest, the strongest, and so the six godlings united – warring against the predecessors who created them.

The war lasted millennia. Time was warped, played by the fingers of the god-father, over which no titan god or godling had an advantage over. Titankind split – few recognised the second coming of gods was to end, and making way for a third – and so the six were joined, by Rhea and the monster children of Kronos, released by Zeus from the bowels of the earth. It took the combined rage of the six and their allies for the prophetic fall of the god-father, and the rest of their enemies fell swiftly after. The children of the defeated god-father emerged victorious – Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Hestia, and himself. 

Thus began a new world. 

Zeus claimed the skies as his rule, and not one of the godlings questioned his authority; victory granted him a war-prize and if it was rulership so be it. Poseidon put a claim upon the water – hesitantly, for he was younger than the first son, but Hades acquiesced and made no challenge to the claim. There was something tainted within Hades, deeper, and darker, and colder than the rest of the godlings. His long time within the bowels of Kronos had stained him with something primordial and wild – a blackness that coalesced with his soul. And so, Hades claimed the least favoured of realms – the Underworld. 

His was a likeness to the titan god-father that the new generation of godlings recognised all too well. Thus while they rejoiced in their victory, toasting to one another with sweet ambrosia, their smiles shifted, eyes warily averted as they spoke to their eldest. 

It was a wall that grew greater over time. Hades receded into the Underworld, where he guarded the gates of Tartarus, the prison of the titans, in an entrapment made of his own blood and rage. The legacy of Kronos simmered within him – and he imprisoned it too, in pain and fire so that he would never forget the monster he could become. 

But he could not rid himself of the other likenesses he had to Kronos. He cut an imposing figure over the rest, slim, tall, dark haired and grey eyed – he had the face of his father, with the same bow lips and steely gaze. His mannerisms too were not dissimilar; the way he’d tilt his head and stand so very still when angered, the way he would drum his long fingers on his knees with one hand and lean forward, head resting on another as he’d think. His voice was a soft susurrus, imbued with the same innate threat of the god-father’s voice. 

Silvertongue, the gods called him. Kronocides, the son of Kronos – that was a title he particularly resented, for whilst his brothers were the sons of Rhea, he was singularly his father’s. And perhaps this admission rung too true, somewhere inside him, and he let the Kronos in him seep forth. He raged, and he deceived, and he taunted his brothers in a taste of what they had condemned him to. A reminder to all of what he was crafted of, by whom he was sired. What he was and could be. 

This was the descent of Hades, the god of treachery, of lies, of betrayal. 

This was the descent of Hades – silvertongue, Kronocides – the god of death.


	2. The Unwelcome God

**The Unwelcome God ******

Hades knows he is not welcome on Olympus. It is precisely why he visits as often as possible.

In the beginning, it was only for the convening of the council. The Olympians would gather every century or so, bickering over the realm of men and gossiping over the favours they had bestowed. Often, lightning would shark down from the sky and cast the gold of Olympus in electric blue when Zeus grew irate with his sister-consort Hera’s claims, or the transgressions of the free titans. On a particularly terrible convergence, Zeus shackled the titan Prometheus to a cliff, to have his liver torn out each dusk for eternity in payment for his wrongs. 

In those days, Zeus sired many lesser gods, children with Hera, children with titans, children with mortals. His favour forged heroes of mortal men, and power unto his children. And as the Olympian progeny grew, bickering on petty matters, Hades would sit brooding on his obsidian throne, fingers tapping a steady rhythm onto his knees. 

Hades could never visit for long. His power was not the strength of Zeus, nor the tact of Poseidon, but the enduring ferocity of old magicks. When he travelled, he left in the Underworld shades of himself, fragments of his god-soul, borne from spilled ichor, sifting through the masses of the dead. Hades often thought that it was an almost godforsaken duty, for no other could or would step into his place. 

(It takes a certain amount of perception to sift through the pleading mortals. Such a job is unsuited to the brashness of Zeus and the callousness of Poseidon. But Hades is the silvertongue, Kronocides, and his words like hooks peel the truth from mortals so that he might direct them into Elysium or Asphodel or Punishment. And so, while he was known to be deceptive and cruel among the gods, the dead thought him fair.)

Hades often visited without warning, when messengers brought news of events the gods had not thought to call him to. Hades was the god of riches – and buried deep within the earth were metals of great rarity, gems so very precious that they would become the store-stones of master artisans such as he. One stone, a deep green emerald, he fashioned into the crown jewel of his beast horned helmet, which funnelled his potency at deception into invisibility. Thus he would walk unseen amongst the gods, weaving chaos amid them until god turned on god, bickering, squabbling, fighting, whilst their forgotten, resented brother-god walked wickedly among them.

Then one day, at the birthing celebration of the hero god-son Herakles, as Hades inched away Poseidon’s staff from the bawdy god, he saw her across the room, staring straight at him.

Rhea. The titan god-mother Rhea. His mother, Rhea.

And with steel in her eyes, she beckoned him with a finger, turning in a swirl of white and striding away.


	3. Rhea

**Rhea ******

“Mother.”

They are alone now, and the air is heavy with something painful. Rhea’s back is turned. She wears white, all white, so separate from the darkness Hades shrouds himself in – the same darkness that shrouded Kronos prior. Rhea does not turn. She barely acknowledges him. Hades hisses in a breath. 

“Will you not speak to me then, mother? You too, would betray me, just as all your other children have done?” 

Still there is no answer from Rhea. The silence cuts into Hades more than an answer ever would. 

“Or perhaps it is because you do not think of me as your son. Perhaps I am only Kronocides to you too, mother. Have you come here to warn me away from your precious Olympians, then, ma?”

“You play a dangerous game, Hades.” she says calmly. “They will discover that it is you who causes their petty troubles. They will not hesitate to cast upon you the blame of all their woes, if they see the chance.”

“Will they?” Hades replies sharply, “Have they not already? Have they not already condemned me for my very existence – the very nature their enemy has cursed me with? Come now, mother. You know the truth. You too conform to it. Perhaps you too wish to wipe clean the slate, begin without the taint of your consort and son upon you.”

“You know that is not true.”

“Do I?” Hades says very softly, a savage grin curling his mouth. “Where were you all those years ago when my petty brothers and fickle sisters cast me out of Olympus? Where were you as my name was sunk into dishonour so that your other children may find their peace? Where were you when my siblings forced my hand to be this?” His chest is rising, falling, rising, falling and yet Rhea says nothing. 

“I know what I am, mother. I can feel him inside me, waiting with bated breath until I yield. They are right, mother, and I am angered in spite of it.” Hades speaks softly in the voice of one who has been betrayed. He begins to walk away when he feels Rhea’s hand on his shoulder. It is the first time in millennia that someone has touched him in such a way, and for a moment he rocks back on his heels.

“Know that you are not him, Hades. I know the poison he whispers into your mind. I know he tells you that it is in your destiny to betray your god-brothers. But remember that you are born from my womb and blessed by my hand. Much of you comes from me, god-son.”

The words reach Hades’ ice heart, shatter it. Shrugging her hand off, he stands stiffly, as if he is in great pain.

“Do not presume to aid me now, Rhea.” He spits the words out. “My father has burnt you out of me. And I will not be so lenient with a stranger again.”


	4. Enraptured

**Enraptured**

Hades does not come to Olympus again for some time.

He tells himself that it is not because Rhea’s words have affected him – he is simply busy, for more mortals come to the gates of the underworld than ever, but it is a lie. Hades is almost infinitely powerful; the Underworld morphs to his every thought and he is nearly omniscient of its happenings. But it is several centuries before he steps from the dim sun of the Underworld, a black cloak pinned to his shoulders by emerald brooches and his helm upon his head. Unseen, he walks into Olympus.

Much has changed over the years. Olympus has grown, run with the bustle of young godlings, messengers and heroes. Parthenons rise in glinting gold at the clouded summit, light refracted in cresting coloured arcs off the diamond glass that bejewels them. Phantom spasms run through Hades’ fingers as he realises he recognises nothing here, and he is nothing more than a watcher at the gate in this moment in time.

 _How long it has been_ , he thinks to himself with bitter remorse, _How long it has been since my brothers have called on me_. For even at the edge of this heaven, he can see gods and god-children, rejoicing, drinking, consorting whilst the hearty laugh of the god-king rings through the air.

His fists clench, trembling as the rage he has suppressed for so long begins to build up, cold anger searing through his veins. It takes a little eternity for him to grip it, quell it, bury it under cold indifference, and when he next opens his eyes, the grounds are nearly empty, but for a small girl.

She is a young girl, with hair spun of sunlight, and in her footsteps burst flowers from the ground in violet and fuchsia. _Demeter_ , thinks Hades, _that is Demeter’s daughter_ – but then she stops, looks up, and gazes right at him. She has blue eyes – Zeus’s eyes – but lacking pride they are positively soft, and as light as the sky.

And they see him, though he is unseen. The girl smiles widely once, before resuming her skipping and bounding away. She soon disappears into a temple and does not look back. Disconcerted, Hades does not move. He wonders if she is real or he has simply imagined her. For some time after, Hades remains there, before turning and descending to his realm.

***

In a blink of time’s eye, Hades is at Olympus again, standing by the gate with his dark cloak and helm. She is there again, a little older, a little taller, surrounded by a gaggle of children. This time, she definitely sees him. She says something and the children go running away, flags of laughter sailing behind them, and the girl shyly stands up, walking towards Hades. She holds a fist up to him, smiling slightly all the while, and Hades does not know what to do. Gently, so very gently, he takes it, and her fingers open. From her palm springs a tiny bud that blooms rapidly into a long stemmed flower. A lily.

And then she is running, gone, and Hades is left standing with his mouth slightly ajar as the scent of lilies fills the air. Alone now, he smiles.

***

The next time, she is waiting. Underneath an olive tree she sits, sifting her fingers through the dirt as tiny buds spring forth, the colour of blush. She looks up the second he exhales, eyes alight, breaking into a smile, and she runs towards him, golden hair streaming behind her in the carnelian sunset. She is no longer a child now, but not quite grown either. Only halfway up to his chest now, she has to peer up at him.

Hades brushes a frond of hair from her face, gentler than he has ever done anything. She takes his hand and holds it with both her own, threading her fingers through his. With eyes alight, she whispers something into their palms, and from between their hands flourish five tiny roses, yellow and pink and orange. Delighted, she laughs and the sound is a song to his ears. Hades feels his knees weaken, his heart thumps. And once again she is gone, waving a farewell behind her.

***

The time after, Hades has something for her. She is there again, reclining by the olive tree as she stares into the distance. Hades approaches her quietly, sitting down beside her.

She is not surprised, and her hand finds his, fingers interlocked and clutched tightly. She exhales, and the tension pours out of her muscles. She is worried about something, and this worries Hades. He tips her chin upwards and looks into her eyes, trying to discern her concerns. His own breath catches as he gazes upon her face, for now she has the face of a young woman, and it is so very beautiful.

She presses her face into the hollow of his neck, wraps her arms around his shoulders and clutches at his cloak. Hades’ heart stutters, and he traces idle circles on her arms. They sit, limbs entangled, until twilight climbs the sky and dusky stars wink the approach of night. There are no words between them – they do not need words, for the silence they speak is its own language.

Then Hades puts a hand into a pocket, drawing from it a long, thin chain upon which hangs an emerald jewel. He slips it around her neck, and she looks smiles quizzically before tucking it beneath her clothes, and leans back into him. This time, it is not her who runs away – Hades waits until he must go back, and reluctantly leaves her. He can feel her gaze until the moment he disappears.


	5. Six Black Stallions

**Six Black Stallions**

Hades is sitting upon his throne in the underworld when he feels the change. It is a low swooping in his stomach, accompanied by a sense of displacement – and Hades realises that godling girl is no longer in Olympus. He stands abruptly, and the judicial halls fall silent. Hades strides out.

He summons to him his cloak and his helm, which fabricate unto him out of the darkness, and proceeds out of the black gates of Cerberus into the mortal realm. He knows instantly where she is. He can sense it. And stepping between the folds of time and space, he is there.

Fields stretch endlessly on, of flaxen wheat and lavender. Trees line a grassy meadow, and flowers scent the air. The twittering of birds is accompanied by the tittering of nymphs, and Hades sees her amongst them, silent and forlorn.

She does not know if she is dreaming when she sees him. Hades watches her blink, eyes sharpen when his image does not disappear, before a renewed fervour appears in her eyes. She speaks harshly to her companions, who frowning begin to move away. 

“Go!” she cries with a gesture of her hand, and an icy wind whips past the nymphs, who shriek and scatter. The second they are gone, she is running towards him, launching herself into his arms and without instruction from his thoughts he is lifting her fluidly into the air and all he can think is _how right this is_.

“Mother fears you,” she says in a rush as Hades sets her down. “Somehow she knew about you, that there is a part of my heart I have given away to you – and so she brought me here.” She eyes the calm fields in distaste, before her expression softens, and her voice roughens. “But you found me.”

Hades’ own voice is rough too. “I will always find you, my heart. Always.” Mortals often say how very hard it is to extract a vow from a god, for they are fickle, powerful beings, but in that moment, Hades had avowed himself freely to her.

Her laughter is shaky. “I didn’t think you would. I thought you’d be lost to me forever.” Despair crosses her face. “And now that you are here, my mother will will no doubt shackle me to the Iron Isles where no man can cross to.”

Hades waits for a moment before he speaks, his voice quiet and strong and filled with unspoken promises. “Come with me.” 

“How?” She asks. “There is no place on this forsaken land not governed by my mother, and no exit not guarded by her rule.”

“I know a place. Come with me. Be mine.” Hades stretches out a hand to her, and he can see that it is an offer she can barely refuse.

It is then that the earth rumbles in the distance. Foot long roots leap from the ground as rage booms from afar. Demeter – her mother, his god-sister – knows, and she is so very angry. 

Hades looks into the startling blue eyes of the godling girl, tilting his head. It is now or never again, and the choice is hers.

Resolve sets fire to the blue, and she grasps his hand with hers. Hades’ next moments are so rapid they are virtually unseen; he whips his free hand towards the earth and commands it in the language of the dead. A great quake rips the meadow apart, and from within the belly of the earth comes a chariot led by six black stallions, fuming and stomping as their muscles quiver in anticipation. Swinging her into his arms, Hades leaps onto the chariot and the stallions dive, down towards his domain, the Underworld. 

As the mortal sky closes above them, the wail of Demeter sounds;

“ _Persephoneeee_!”


	6. Persephone

**Persephone**

The descent is swift and silent. Persephone’s hand clutches Hades’ arm with an iron grip, but when he looks to her he sees no fear and no perturbance – only a steely calmness. _The face of a queen_ , he thinks, _and what a fine queen she would make_. But she is young still, and queenship is not given lightly, even to one as divine as the daughter of a twofold Olympian union. 

Though, queen or no queen, she is now his. She has sealed her fate willingly, and Hades will not let her go. It is selfish, Hades knows – but there are few who would willingly choose the path towards the Underworld, and fewer still who would make the journey with him. Besides, the gods are predisposed to selfishness, and perhaps this one time it is not so bad to be as the Olympians are. And – there is a part of Hades that wants to share the wonders of the Underworld with her. Gods and mortals alike see it as a dreary place; tormented, despised, haunted – but they do not know of the complexity of the Underworld’s order, nor do they know of its understated splendour. They see not the beauty of the false sun – only that it is false – and they have little idea of the treasures rich in ancient magicks that the Underworld beholds. This is what Hades will share with her, be she queen, consort or companion alone – _his_ Underworld, the domain forged and raised from his own blood and toil. 

Thus, the god of death moulds the Underworld to his thoughts, and the chariot glides down to the sight of smooth stone embedded with rough jewels, lit from within by hellfire. Vines, glistening with the sheen of tainted eternity creep upwards as they grow, dangling plump fruits down from the cavernous ceiling. 

Persephone takes in a breath. Her hand leaves him and wraps around the forged bars of the chariot as she leans forward in wonderment. In the hellfire, her hair gleams like burnished gold, gently disturbed by the warm breeze. 

“Does it please you, my lady?” Hades steps down as the chariot comes to a stop and offers her his hand. Here he is gentlemen and primordial god both; the Underworld is _his_ domain, and bleak power coagulates to his skin like a shield, thrumming to his beating heart. 

“Beautiful,” She breathes, “So very beautiful.” Her fingers brush the vines, and they green under her skin, blushing with life. A delighted gasp of laughter escapes her, and Hades can feel the thump of his heart speed. His arm curls around her waist and he helps her down from the chariot. She does not separate herself from him even when she does step down. 

“Where are we?” Persephone questions. Hades smiles enigmatically. “My domain, sweet Persephone. The eternal lands.” And so he leads her away, walking down the meadows that pave Elysium and the wheat fields beyond them; he tells her of the midnight sky and the eternal sun and all the way as they walk bloom the buds of tiny flowers beneath her feet, products of her joy, until night falls and the jewelled skies darken above them. No man, woman, or cursed god is in sight, for Hades has commanded them away. 

They amble then to his palace, a structure to rival Zeus’ own: a tooth of black stone sharking towards the sky, carved in obsidian and lit by hellfire jewels. Night blooming lilies uncurl as they pass, sweetening the air with their scent, and they walk the spiralling stairway to his abode, enraptured by one another, talking in low voices all the while. _Do you recognise these?_ he thinks _. Where I planted your lily, a thousand more grew, daughter of life._

They recline on the balcony swings where the air is cooler and the scent of lilies from the gardens below is diluted. From this perch, they can see all of the Eternal Lands, painted by the night. Only the red glow of Phlegethon lights the west; the river of the dying sun, but all in the darkness beyond is hidden. 

Hades can see her as she rests her limbs on the balcony rails. Vines climb around her arms, curling to her thoughts and idly, Hades notes the irony of having a goddess of life on the throne of the dead. Perhaps it was meant to be; the goddess of life bound to become the consort of the lord of death. 

Bound – but _not quite_. A sudden, selfish fear grips Hades. He knows she is yet to understand just who he is. She has not yet seen the dead, not in this corner of the underworld, but once she does – and surely she shall, for he cannot hide them forever – she will know exactly who he is. And then, she will leave. 

_She cannot leave. I will forbid it._

But she too is a goddess of strong lineage. She can leave. Unless – 

Unless, he truly binds her, to the Underworld, to _him_. 

It is a terrible thing to do, especially to one he wishes to honour, but he honours himself first and foremost. No matter love, lust, or friendship, betrayal is a sharp knife and Hades has been on the receiving end of it once too many times. In all things he will trust in his own self before all others, to any cost. 

“Persephone,” Hades cajoles, his voice soft, cajoling, entirely trustworthy, “You must be tired and in want of wine.” 

“I am indeed, thank you.” Persephone sighs, contented. She lays back on the plush pillows and stares into the inky skies, lit by dying stars. Hades summons to him an obsidian goblet, skimming a thumb along its razor edge. Ichor, iridescent and golden, seeps into the cup – a couple of drops before the wound heals – and pools at the bottom, swirling with the red contents until it sheens with lustre. Idly, Hades hands it to her, expression relaxed, though the fingers of one hand, ever thrumming on his knee, tighten into a fist and sit still. 

Persephone takes a long drink, and when her lips come away from the cup, they are stained a ripe red. “What is this?” She asks, smiling at Hades, unknowing of how she has stepped like a doe into a lion’s path. “It’s delightful.”

“Wine of pomegranate,” Hades replies, no longer pondering his moral dilemmas as his darkened eyes gloss over her lips. “It is a speciality.” He smiles, secretly. “I am glad you like it.”

Persephone downs her wine, the last drop beading at the bottom of her lip. Hades’ fingers come up, curling around her chin whilst his thumb brushes her lips. Heat suffuses her skin, darkens her own eyes which rake down his throat and then back to his own lips – and then, they are kissing. 

They do not kiss with love, because that is not the way of the gods, they who burn too bright and too strong and feel too deep. Their kiss is savage; brutally they fight for dominance and neither one yields, until they are both blazing, her with the heat of life and him with the fire of hell, neither of which can exist without the other. They devour eachother, claiming skin and touch and taste, and they spend an eternity discovering pleasure in eachother’s bodies (for time passes differently for gods, even those in the eternal lands, and its wings are especially swift when the gods burn thusly). 

When at last the flames turn to embers, an age has passed. Hades is aware, distantly so, of the havoc he as created; unwittingly this time, for he did not have the intention to do so in loving Persephone. As his mind clears, it extends to those of his shades and merges with them, expelling lost time as they are tied. 

Demeter has scoured the Earth of life, and a deep winter has taken root in her mourning. Zeus is furious – furious may even be too kind a word – and Hermes has beat upon the gates of the Underworld several times to no avail. All the while, Persephone – sweet Persephone – has not a clue with whom she has consorted. 

Hades knows he has screwed up, as he often has done. 

Only this time, he has something to lose. 


	7. I Am No Child

**I Am No Child**

The words will not leave his mouth. _I, who am lord of hell, the king of the Underworld and the firstborn of Kronos, have deceived you. I, the brother of your father and the unwelcome god, have taken you as my wife consort and bound you to my blood. I did so selfishly, and I did so cruelly – but I did so for I cannot bear to lose you._ Instead, he kisses her, his fervour conveying everything he cannot possibly put into words, and his fingers tremble as he clutches her to him.

When they pull apart, Persephone is frowning; “Is something wrong, my love?” But Hades is utterly composed, a mask of lies on his wretched face. “Nothing at all.” And he guides her away. 

They come now to the halls of judgement, in the forecourt of the palace a while away. The dome is at the trivium between the realms of the Underworld; this is where mortal souls are judged following their crossing of the Styx. Hades is strangely on edge; here, she will see him as he is to his subjects: king, god and judiciary all. 

“Where are we?” asks Persephone.

“The judicial halls, where I am king.” Gently, he presses a kiss to the side of her mouth. “Watch, but do not speak. You are young still, and your words will ripple my realm if they be spoken outside of your intent.” 

At this, Persephone bristles and her eyes ignite from within. “I am no child to speak careless words. You certainly did not think so when you bedded me.”

Hades looks at her, truly looks at her. It is true – she is not the same girl that he whisked away upon a black chariot an age ago. She stands with her golden hair in soft waves curling to her waist, hair which he had run his fingers through a thousand times; he sees the silhouette of her waist in her dress around which his arms have belonged for eternity. And now as she stands she is not the sheltered virgin girl he stole away from the Olympians. She is a goddess, well aware of her wishes and desires, flaring into her own. 

Hades kneels before her. 

“One day, I should like you to be queen with me over this realm. I should like my people to be yours, and my crown to rest upon your head. This realm recognises my love for you. They recognise you as my wife and consort. Queen of my heart, they await me to call you _their_ queen. But the gods would rip you away from me, for they believe you to be a young god-child wronged. It is they, not I who perceive you as a child. And there are those within my judicial halls who would whisper to the gods of your words; of how I have kept you there against your will. Speak, if you should wish it, but be wary that words have their consequences.” Hades voice is serious, but then, it softens, and he takes Persephone’s hand, pressing a kiss to her open palm. “You are young, my goddess. But you are wiser than your years and you are forged of steel and love both. If you will have me, I will make you queen someday, and you will be beloved by all of my realm.”

Persephone speaks after Hades pauses, her voice softer, but still edged with fortitude. “For now, I accept. But remember husband mine, that I am fast to learn and my words will not let them defame you. The gods will know that it is my choice to remain with you. Let their ears in your halls talk! They will carry tales of your queen taking her place beside you as an equal. And I will hold you to your promise, that one day I shall be your queen.” 

 


	8. Aeacus And The Triumvirate

The halls fall silent as hades strides in through the doors – and erupt with noise as persephone walks in behind him. Persephone takes in a breath. Lines of mortals wailing and squalling, pale and sobbing raise their voices anew in fervour and panic, a way she has never seen them before, so different from the rosy murals of heroes and the glory-bearers of kingdoms. It is… disconcerting. 

She looks at Hades now, and he is every inch what he is fabled to be, as black metal armour curls around his limbs, assembling from thin air, as his dark cloak pins to his broad shoulders with metal brooches and a silvered sword materialises to his side, and he sweeps across the hall and sits upon his throne. It is a throne of black bones and obsidian, twisted with amorphous faces, and when Hades glances at her, his eyes are flat and black and expressionless. This is who he is to his people. A king, an absolute.

Hades turns to the three men on iron thrones to his right. They bow down to him with faces agape in dismay. 

“My lord, is this – is this–” the first begins, looking over at Persephone when–

“This is unacceptable! You cannot – cannot!” The second explodes, faltering for words as his somewhat familiar blue eyes stare at Persephone in horror. “You will bring war here!”

Hades only smiles coldly in response, waving for the men to sit down. “There will be no war, for she is here of her own accord, young Aeacus.” 

“Her mother – her father–” Aeacus continues, staring down the king of the underworld–

“Do not have judiciary here in my realm, and no longer have hold over my queen and consort!” Hades thunders, and the very pillars of the Underworld tremble as his wrath surfaces. Then at once it is gone and he is stoic again. 

“You have trapped her into this, my lord. She doesn’t – she doesn’t know–” Aeacus whispers, at which point Persephone steps into the light, staring pointedly at him, and then Hades. In the empty space next to his throne, the ground trembles, cracks, and a shoot emerges from deep within. It grows rapidly, a twist of budded ivy vines which morph into a throne fit for a goddess, and the flowers bloom, scenting the air with lilies. Persephone walks calmly to the throne, seating herself beside Hades and surveys the triumvir. 

“Let it be known that I am here of my will alone and that I am not at the behest of my husband consort.” Persephone says, and her voice can cut steel. The halls are silent. Even Aeacus cannot summon the words to speak. Hades watches the debacle unfold, triumph blooming as he sees the queen in her present itself to all. Aeacus bows to her, and Persephone’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Son of Zeus, I appreciate your concern for me. But it is not needed.”

“My Lady, you are young yet. You are ignorant of the treachery of this one god – the only god our father would never want–”

Lightning flashes in Persephone’s eyes. “Heed your words! I am the daughter of Demeter and Zeus both, and ichor untainted by mortality runs through my veins. I am ageless – timeless – no unaware child. And you will not slander my husband consort, the lord of these lands with your words of treachery! Speak no more of this to me, Aeacus, lest I have your tongue cut.”

As far as threats went, it is a mild one, but the fire of Zeus has the triumvir shrinking away from Persephone. Hades smiles, congratulating himself over how well this played out. As Persephone cools her temper, Hades offers to her his hand, and she takes it, grasping it tightly, unknowing that she has played right into it. 

Hades smiles at the triumvirate. It is entirely terrifying, for Hades never smiles. This is a smile with all teeth, sharp and knife edged, and eyes as cold as Tartarus’ fires are hot. A threat – no, a promise, of destruction that is beyond death. All protests that may have been die away, and are replaced with fear, and a distinct loathing appears in the eyes of Aeacus. But they say no more. 

Persephone sees none of this. She looks upon the dead with the smallest of frowns gracing her forehead, imperceptible to none but Hades. She has never seen them like this, he realises. She must have only ever seen the glory of mortals; the war heroes and the gifted halflings, the blessed muses and the kingsort, all who have graced Olympus at one time or another. Not the starving mothers with gaunt babes in arms, who slept one cold night and did not wake the next; not the gutter boys trained to fight in the ways of Rome, in pits against beasts, or the ill and elderly, decaying a while before they died. He surveys her expressions, trying to discern any thoughts that might give away her discomposure, but all that is there is the one small frown, not quite upset yet not altogether ignorant. 

She is taking this better than he thought she would. How easily she has slipped into her position as queen, beside him, king and lover that he is. With satisfaction ribbed with errant threads of self loathing Hades waves a hand towards the dead, a black gem gleaming upon his finger.

“Come forth, the first of you.”


End file.
